


Easy For Leonardo

by a_shepherd



Series: The Young Aral Series [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Cetagandan Occupation, Gen, Time Period: The Reign of Dorca Vorbarra, Wartime Exploits, major fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_shepherd/pseuds/a_shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Prince Xav Vorbarra and a very young Lord Aral Vorkosigan foil a dastardly Cetagandan plot, aided by a horrible-whiskered cat and the Tooth Fairy. (with a shout-out to Dylan Thomas)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy For Leonardo

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired (OK, very loosely) by a mailing list posting by LMB on her own personal headcanon (see endnote) regarding the events of Mad Yuri’s Massacre. In the interest of full disclosure, the thread WAS instigated by Yours Truly. The Prince as a gun-running freedom fighter - yeah, that works for me! Score one for Team Vorbarra! How Dylan Thomas got involved, I’m not exactly sure, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

      Prince Xav Aral Vorbarra was seated in his favorite overstuffed chair near the traditional, Russian-style ceramic fireplace in The Aral Sea Teahouse. His four year old grandson, Lord Aral Vorkosigan, was seated across from him, boosted up on his chair atop a very large cooking pot supplied by the helpful Dendarii proprietress who had taken a shine to the boy. The Princess-his-Wife (he called her ‘The Princess’ because he loved getting a rise out of her - maybe it _was_ petty; _certainly_ it was silly - ruffling that egalitarian Betan sensibility that sometimes bordered on condescending), along with their two daughters and two toddler Vorpatril granddaughters had gone for the day on a long-planned, carefully orchestrated, highly clandestine and no longer put-offable shopping trip, organized like any other top secret mission these days. _It’s astonishing_ , he reminded himself, _how fast very young children outgrow their clothes, or in the highly energetic Aral’s case, wear them out from the inside_ , as The Princess was fond of saying! A trusted courier had then arrived unexpectedly with news that the two new Betan arms dealers in town wanted to meet with him in the city, as soon as possible. Xav suspected they were neither Betan _NOR_ arms dealers, but Ceta agents or some other Galactics working _for_ them at the very least. Not a good development. He had packed the boy up and headed to the teahouse in the oldest part of the caravansarai. It had opened when the Emperor-his-Father was still a prince, and was his favorite meeting place for contacts old and new. It was easily defensible - he and his armsmen knew the caravansarai’s maze of narrow streets and narrower alleys in a way strangers never would, and for his money, had the best tea and traditional pastries in the capital.  
    He looked at his chrono. The Possible Betans, as he mentally dubbed them, were late. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Vorbarras of any degree were not used to being kept waiting. His armsman, Dmitriev, sat at a table near the door, posing as another teahouse patron having a leisurely late lunch. Three more of his armsmen stood guard - one in the kitchen, the others outside watching the doors, front and back. For his part, Aral looked absolutely thrilled. As far as he knew, he was simply along for the ride. _Just keeping your old Grand’da company,_ he explained to him, _but if you SHOULD happen to notice anything unusual, anything at all, be sure to let me know - in private._ Aral solemnly promised he would. Xav wondered how much, if anything, the boy really understood about what it was they were doing in the teahouse today, or how dangerous it could be for him if he, Xav, had miscalculated the intentions of their now very tardy guests.  
    When The Possible Betans finally arrived, Aral was his usual, exquisitely polite self, greeting them formally before proceeding to stuff himself silly with his favorite brillberry blini and guzzling a big mug of sweet, milky tea. His little feet dangled, swaying back and forth nonchalantly, the picture of childish innocence, but he noticed the boy intently watching and listening without seeming to - a neat trick, to be sure - his brow furrowing _ever so minutely_ , his bright grey eyes narrowed _ever so slightly_ with scrutiny. _Hmm, very, very interesting.._. He wondered what Aral might be puzzling over so soon. Something clearly had set off his alarm bells, of that he had no doubt. He could almost see and hear the mental gears furiously grinding away in that brilliant little brain...  
    Aral’s older brother Selig was with his father, as usual, while the womenfolk were away, which left Xav with his younger grandson, not that he minded in the least. He could have left Aral back at the estate with the rest of his armsmen, but he felt the distracting presence of a very young child might be enough to throw The Possible Betans off guard enough to let something slip. It was a long shot, at best, but at the very least, the boy just might put them at their ease so he could get a better feel for them. As an added bonus, with his near perfect memory, Aral was better and far more inconspicuous than any recording device, not to mention undetectable if they _did_ scan for one - even if he _didn’t_ always understand what he was hearing. Plus, spending time with the child was a pure joy for him - all the more precious because of its rarity. Livy was most certainly right about her second son - he _was_ special - and despite all her grousing about ‘damn Barrayaran mysticism’, Xav knew The Princess thought so, too.  
    Their son and older daughter, Mischa and Livy, had been reasonably bright as children, and Sonia had been quite clever at an early age, but nothing prepared him for Aral. Aral was beyond bright, it was glaringly obvious, and exceptionally clever in his quiet, unassuming way. So far, his older brother, younger sister, and Sonia’s two Vorpatril girls seemed ordinary enough, much like their parents had been. Xav hadn’t quite sussed out the source of Aral’s brilliance. Heh! Not from the Vorbarra side, that much was certain!  
    About The Princess’ side of the family, he knew precious little. She was the daughter of two herms who had not been able to decide which of them would be the sperm donor and who would donate the egg. They ultimately decided to go with an anonymous, already fertilized egg from a reproductive clinic for their daughter, so there was no hereditary information to guide him on that front - Betan medical confidentiality laws were renowned as the strictest in the Nexus. The pair’s squabbling over which of them would be which parent was the least of their differences, and they split as a couple, more or less amicably, before The Princess was even school age. One later married a man, the other, a woman; both couples sharing custody of their daughter. The Princess enjoyed a close, lifelong relationship with all four of her ‘parents’. She told anyone who would listen (but only on Beta Colony - a thing like that was _far_ too shocking to be mentioned publicly on Barrayar, as he had to frequently remind her when he noticed a confessional mood coming on) that she knew Xav was the one for her when he didn’t even bat an eye when first introduced to her two mother/fathers, as other off-worlders always did. Well, how could he, really, given his own less than ‘normal’ familial situation? Throughout his childhood and teen years, it was an open secret throughout the empire that he was the biological son of the emperor, but it was not and could not be acknowledged publicly nor legally, until Dorca’s Vorrutyer wife died, and his father married his mother. He’d been in his final year at the university by then and found it all rather drolly amusing. He’d grown up a highborn bastard, technically without a father, although Dorca had been an unusually fond, attentive, and generous parent despite separate household arrangements and unacknowledgeable paternity. That sort of thing put a different slant on his attitudes when it came to family. He liked to think he was already predisposed to Beta Colony’s many alternative family arrangements by the time he became romantically involved with The Princess, and a good thing, too, as it was always the two of them against the world once he returned home to Barrayar with her as his bride. He liked to flatter himself in thinking that they - an outsider and an off-worlder - had done right by their own children and now grandchildren in spite of it. A man could only hope...  
    Xav and The Possible Betans verbally circled each other warily, before spelling out exactly what he needed, what they could supply, and what kind of terms they could offer and/or be willing to accept when it came to payment. Because of The Princess, he was on equitable terms with the major Betan arms dealers, who had no great love for Barrayar’s Cetagandan occupiers themselves. The Possible Betans claimed to be able to offer him and Barrayar an even better deal than he was currently getting. If they _were_ legitimate, it would be a major boon to the Resistance, with their always sketchy funds, but he was skeptical on several counts. It seemed highly unlikely their purported startup company could match the sweet deal he had been able to hammer out with the official Betan government subcontractors, an uncle and a cousin or three of The Princess among them, but still, he was always open to discussion and possible negotiation. Secondly, there was just something about them seemed not quite kosher when they met briefly for the first time yesterday. He couldn’t put his finger on it with any degree of certainty. It was just a niggling, unsettling impression, quite vague and fleeting. He had hoped to spend more time with them to work it out, but they seemed uneasy and more than mildly skittish. Not that _any_ arms dealer wouldn’t have reason to be, right under the Cetas’ noses here in Vorbarr Sultana, meeting with the officially neutral son of the emperor. The fact that they were meeting with him _at all_ meant, of course, that he was undeniably NOT neutral AND they knew it.  
    How he had managed to keep the Cetagandans bamboozled all these years was not, he knew, due so much to his ambassadorial skills and military-minded cunning as it was to the Cetagandan belief in Barrayaran intellectual and technological inferiority. The possibility that Barrayarans might actually be able to scam them was simply not on their radar, totally incomprehensible to their mindset. Incredulously, they still regarded the Resistance movement as little more than a mere nuisance, rather like a pesky, irksome insect, very annoying but of no real consequence. Apart from their wanton destruction of Vorkosigan Vashnoi, that is.  
    Most Barrayarans regarded that horrifically heinous event as a deeply personal attack by the Cetagandans - part warning shot, part punishment - aimed squarely at General Piotr Pierre Vorkosigan who _was_ most assuredly excessively pesky and irksome… and then some. As anyone who knew the General-his-son-in-law could have told them, it had the effect of making him even more so, and it inflamed even those whose loyalties straddled the fence depending on which way the political winds (and their private fortunes) were blowing. As devastating as it was to Vorkosigan’s District, the nuking of the city and all within it finally united Barrayar’s various factions as one, in a way Dorca hadn’t quite managed to accomplish. Not for lack of trying, though... he’d give him that. The Emperor-his-Father also did an admirable job of snowing those Ceta bastards in much the same way as he himself did. _Score another one for Team Vorbarra..._  
    The plan was for Armsman Dmitriev to wait for a hopefully big enough distraction and plant a minute tracking device on the coat of one or the other of The Possible Betans in the hope they’d be able to trace them back to their handlers and learn if they actually were the rogue entrepreneurial upstarts they claimed to be, or more ominously, working for the Cetas to entrap him. Unfortunately, Possible Betan #2 was a woman of abundant caution, who seated herself at the table in such a way as to have a direct view of the front door. Reasonable for her, he told himself, but bad for him, as their coats were all hung on a long row of hooks next to the door. So far, Armsman Dmitriev hadn’t been able to figure out a way to casually approach the hanging garments without drawing attention to himself, as they were in the teahouse too late for the lunch rush but too early for dinner, and thus were the only patrons. Time was running out. The Possible Betans had presented their terms, and were just making polite small talk while finishing their excellent savories and pastries. Spies or not, NOBODY could resist the outstanding fare of the Aral Sea Teahouse, and seriously, why would anyone want to?  
    As if on cue, the teahouse owner’s horrible-whiskered cat, which had been lazing on the warm tiles of the fireplace, jumped up on Aral’s lap, and began licking his face. Xav was startled by Aral’s giggles. The boy’s laughter was such a rare thing as of late - in his opinion, he was just too damn serious for a four year old. Absorbed in slowly petting the creature, Aral announced to no one in particular, “I like cats.” The big ginger tom certainly seemed to like _him_ well enough, purring loudly and making itself at home in his lap. “My Da’s ‘lergic,” he told Possible Betan #2, who was also stroking the animal. “He coughs and sneezes really really bad when there’s cats - so we can’t have one. Da says cats are nothing but furry fiends, but I don’t think they’re fiends at all. They’re just cats being cats!”    
    Armsman Dmitriev had positioned himself at a table near the coats with the remains of his meal, and appeared to be absorbed in an old-style newsflimsy, printed on actual wood pulp paper, bleeding ink all over the table and his fingers. Xav gave Dmitriev a questioning eyebrow quirk. Dmitriev responded with an expressive if microscopic shoulder shrug.  
    Aral noticed their exchange. _Of course he did_ , Xav observed. _He doesn’t miss a thing, clever little lad._  
    “If I had a cat, _”_ the clever lad continued, _“_ I would name him Furry Fiend. I’d catch mice for him, so he wouldn’t have to hunt and maybe get hurt. There’s lots... if you know where to look.” He slurped his tea noisily before going on to say, “My grand’da calls me Little Mouse.”  
    The Two Possible Betans both looked at Xav, eyebrows raised. _“Oh. No. Not him,”_ Aral clarified, pointing at the Prince. _“My other grand’da_ \- Grandpére Vorkosigan. He’s a count, y’know, not a _prince_ like Grand’da Vorbarra. He’s real old. And wrinkly too,” wrinkling his nose as if to illustrate. “He smells like toast.”  
    Xav laughed uproariously, imagining Old Selig’s face if he’d heard that description. The Possible Betans laughed freely, too, clearly more relaxed. The cat, having licked the last stray bits of crumbs and cream from Aral’s face jumped off his lap, its hefty tail swiping several sweet rolls off the serving platter on the table and onto the floor.  
    Shouting, “Oh, oh!” Aral slid down and off his chair in a flash, and went scrambling on his hands and knees under the table. The cooking pot he had been perched on fell to the floor with a loud bang, rattling around in front of the fireplace, making a considerable racket. “Five second rule!” the boy yelled, as he attempted to corral the wayward pastries while fending off the inquisitive cat. Rolls quickly in hand, he offered them to The Possible Betans, who declined. “My Gran always says, ‘Waste not, want not.’ Doesn’t she, Grand’da?”  
    Suppressing a severe case of giggles, Xav nodded vigorously, afraid to speak.  
    Possible Betan #2 said, “Your grandmother sounds like a very wise woman, Lord Aral.”  
    “Oh, yes, ma’am. She is. Isn’t that so, Grand’da?”  
    Barely able to control his mirth, Xav had to cough several times in an attempt to cover a snicker. “Indeed she is, son. The wisest woman I know.” He picked up the cooking pot and returned it and Aral to their former positions on the chair.    
    Possible Betan #2 said pleasantly, “So, you’re called Little Mouse, are you?”  
    Aral nodded in the affirmative, his mouth full of the pastries he had just rescued from the floor. Xav saw him give a quick, hopeful glance at the armsman, who regrettably hadn’t quite been able to capitalize quickly enough on the incident, due in part to his own spasms of laughter.  
    The Prince told The Possible Betans, “My dear little grandson here has _always_ been rather small for his age, and generally quiet as a mouse, which no doubt inspired his Grandpére Vorkosigan. Until today, that is.” He gave the boy a questioning look and said apologetically, “I really don’t know what’s gotten into him. Probably just excited is all, aren’t you, boy?”  
    “Yes, sir! Very much sir!” Aral enthused, squirming around on his perch. “I _like_ coming to the city! I _‘specially_ like coming to this place ‘cause it has my name on the outside!” He dangled precariously off the seat, attempting to look under the table. “That cat sure is friendly, isn’t he? I bet even Da would like him!” Bouncing back up, he piled two more of the teahouse’s finest on his already crumb-laden plate. “I _really_ _really_ like these brillberry blini. May I please have another sip of your coffee, Grand’da? _Pleeeeease?_ I _like_ coffee, but Mama won’t let me have any.”  
    “Hmmph… imagine that,” chuckled Possible Betan #1.  
    The adults all laughed heartily at his comment, relaxing the atmosphere even further. Xav marveled at Aral’s performance, for performance it surely was. _It’s staggering_ , he told himself,  _the realization that Aral not only seems to know exactly what’s going on, but somehow knows exactly what’s needed, and how to best pull it off; acting - and he WAS acting, no doubt about that_ \- _like a very amusing and disarming four year old child._ There was absolutely nothing of a typical four year old about Aral at all - never had been. His markedly atypical behavior today, Xav knew, was an act solely for the benefit of The Possible Betans. He also knew that anyone who did not know Aral as he did would not have the slightest inkling he was anything other than an overly excited little boy on a serious sugar high.  
    Armsman Dmitriev had edged significantly closer to the hanging coats during the incident with the cat, but his progress was stalled again as Possible Betan #1 had moved his chair while Aral was rooting around under the table, in such a way that he, now, was facing the door with a direct view of the coats. The armsman’s eyes were desperately trying to communicate the need to get The Possible Betans’ attention focused on something else - _anything_ else! - and soon! Xav noticed that the boy had noticed - again.  
    Aral had polished off a truly prodigious quantity of the teahouse’s finest offerings. _Where DID he put it all?_ Xav mused. There didn’t seem to be _nearly_ enough room in his undersized body. Aral burped grandiloquently and looked up at The Possible Betans, announcing loudly and matter-of-factly that he had a loose tooth - did they want to see it? Not waiting for a response, he stood up on his chair and leaned well over the table, literally right in their faces, and began energetically demonstrating the looseness of said tooth, hanging on by God knows what, poking his tongue all around it, sucking it in and out, making it wobble dramatically. Possible Betan #2 looked a tad squeamish. Xav squelched a snort.  
    “It’s my first tooth ever to fall out. It doesn’t even hurt. Much... My big brother had a tooth knocked out by a hockey stick once. He wasn’t even playing hockey, just chasing me around with it, so Da was really mad! It was all bleedy and everything. _Yuck!”_ He sighed deeply and told The Possible Betans, “I sure wish I lived on Beta Colony, so your Tooth Fairy would come and leave me some money when it falls out.”  
    The barest flicker of his eyes flashed in Xav’s direction, then at The Possible Betans. Xav had noticed it too - the look of puzzlement, or maybe it was a hint of panic in their eyes at the mention of Beta Colony’s Tooth Fairy of legend. Odd, that... and he didn’t think it was because of the sudden turn of a little boy’s conversation. Most adults would have humored such a young child at that point. Definitely odd... and not a point in their favor.  
    “My Da says there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy,” said Aral. “He says it’s just Betan foolishness, but Gran says it’s no more foolish than Father Frost.” He directed an exceptionally earnest, hopeful look at both of them. “So… _is_ it foolishness?”  
    The Prince looked at Aral, whose luminous grey eyes were now puddled over with innocence incarnate, his limpid gaze aimed full bore at The Possible Betans. _Let’s not overdo it son,_ he tried to signal with his eyebrows.  
    Possible Betan #2 - the cautious woman - replied, “Um... no... I, er... I don’t think so.”  
    Aral’s expressive eyes pleaded mournfully, “Please, ma’am, no to which one? The Tooth Fairy or Father Frost?”  
    The Possible Betans exchanged quick, nervous glances. _Spy school very probably DID NOT cover this sort of situation,_ thought Xav wryly.  
    Possible Betan #1, with a nod to his companion, said in a sympathetic and assuring tone, “Both, I’m sure, Lord Aral.”  
    “Oh!” said Aral. He sat back down, looking greatly relieved. “Good. That’s what I thought, too. But, please, sir or ma’am, do you have to just be asleep when the Tooth Fairy comes, like for Father Frost, or do you actually have to leave your tooth under a pillow?”  
    He paused. For dramatic effect, Xav was certain, remembering what an outrageously funny little showman the boy had been as a toddler, forcing him to stifle a laugh yet again.  
     “Because I don’t always _have_ a pillow, y’see.” He blinked those expressive big eyes wistfully at his audience. “Sometimes, I don’t have _a bed_ , either, when my family’s on the run. Or... or…” suddenly looking panic-stricken at a new, troubling thought, “what if I was sleeping in the same bed with my brother and sister? We do _that_ a lot. How would the Tooth Fairy know the tooth was _mine_ and leave the money for _me?”_  
    It was everything Xav could do to keep from snickering - the boy was laying it on thick! The Princess would have said _as thick as molasses in January,_ another of her choice Old Earth expressions. If there had been the slightest doubt in his mind about the Betan-ness or the lack of thereof in his current companions, the clueless expressions on their faces sealed their fate. Both seemed genuinely riveted by Aral’s Tooth Fairy dilemma.  
    “Come now, Aral,” Xav chided in his best faux, stern, grandfatherly voice. “We don’t want to be bothering these good people with Tooth Fairy nonsense, do we now?”  
    Aral’s dark brow furrowed. His little nose scrunched. His voice took on an uncharacteristic, petulant, whiny tone, quite admirably in keeping with character, Xav thought.  
     _“S’not_ nonsense, Grand’da! _Gran_ says so!”  
    Playing along, he replied with an exasperated air, “Ah! Well, then. If your _Gran_ says so…” Armsman Dmitriev, by the door, shot him a triumphant look, followed by a surreptitious fist pump. Xav heaved a duly grateful mental sigh of relief.  
     _Time to wrap this up_ , Xav decided, and told Aral, “See here, boy. I propose that you and I try an experiment when that tooth finally does fall out. We’ll put it under my pillow and see if your Gran’s Betan Tooth Fairy can find you here on Barrayar. I have quite a good feeling about it. Shall we give it a go?”  
    Aral managed to look both doubtful and hopeful. “I guess so, sir.”  
    The relief on the faces of The Possible Betans was palpable. They probably felt they had dodged a bullet. Xav almost felt sorry for them. Almost...  
    A grinning Possible Betan #1 told Xav, “Cute kid,” as he glanced down at Aral, who was prodding the tooth with his tongue significantly more gingerly than before, while absentmindedly petting the cat who had appropriated his lap yet again, the horrible whiskers bristling at not finding any more tasty morsels on the boy’s face or tunic front.  
    Possible Betan #2 tousled Aral’s thick, black mop of hair. “I hope you have good luck with that Tooth Fairy person, young man.” Aral cringed as politely as humanly possible - he _hated_ having his hair tousled, presumably because so many people seemingly felt compelled to do so. In spite of it, he was mindful of his manners. “Thank you, ma’am. I hope so, too.”  
    “A delightful child, sir,” said Possible Betan #2.  
     “So kind of you to say so,” chuffed Xav. “We rather think so, too.” The Possible Betans quickly downed the remains of their tea and made the obligatory pleasantries before leaving, promising to contact him ASAP with a reply to his offer from their superiors.       
    Armsman Dmitriev and Xav exchanged meaningful glances and made mental high-fives as The Possible Betans put on their coats, gloves and hats, and said their final goodbyes before slipping out of The Aral Sea Teahouse into the snowy late afternoon street.  
    Armsman Dmitriev waited a full minute before erupting in raucous whoops and launching into a jerky sort of victory dance popular with young people these days. He ran across the room and scooped Aral up out of his seat, cat and all. The panicky cat jumped down, flailing wildly and swiping at Dmitriev, as he swung the boy around a couple of times before handing him off to Xav, who threw him as high in the air as the quaint old teahouse’s low ceiling would allow, then held him there for a long moment, beaming up at him.  
    “Oh, easy for Leonardo!” Xav roared, his laughter booming. He lowered the shyly grinning Aral and stood him the tabletop, still laughing, unable to stop beaming at him.  
    Armsman Dmitriev, also laughing, clapped Xav on the back and affectionately tousled Aral’s hair, which set off another bout of the boy’s very polite cringing.  
    “That, sir, was BLOODY BRILLIANT! Thanks to his young lordship here, they’re gonna lead us straight back to the nest!” He planted a loud and juicy smooch on Aral’s forehead, gushing, “Are you sure this little bugger’s only four years old? Any more like him at home?”  
    Armsman Dmitriev was then joined by his fellow armsmen who had been guarding the exits, and left the teahouse with them to meet up with the General’s men in the perimeter force who were no doubt in hot pursuit of The No Longer Possible Betans. Armsman Ujeg, who had been keeping watch from the kitchen, stayed behind to guard the Prince and Aral.  
    Xav took Aral in his arms and held him for a long moment, looking into his eyes. Aral’s return gaze was calm and steady. _Much, much too serious for a four year old,_ Xav said to himself. He sat back down in his chair by the fireplace, Aral on his lap. The two of them contemplated each other in companionable silence, to the accompaniment of the cat’s purring as it curled around Xav’s boots, the sound of crackling flames and the occasional pop of an ember.  
    Aral spoke first. “Those people aren’t Betans, Grand’da.”  
    “Indeed they’re not,” he affirmed. “I’m quite sure of it now. But how did _you_ know? Just out of curiosity, mind.”  
    “Well, sir, they _sounded_ like Gran, but not exactly. The words were right, and they said them right, but it was like… um… well… they had to _think about it_ just a little before they spoke. It just didn’t sound natural. At first I wasn’t sure, ‘cause I don’t know if they have different accents on Beta Colony like we do here.”  
    Xav nodded. “An excellent point, son. As it happens, they don’t. Not only do they not have regional accents, they only speak one official language, English.” Aral’s face wore his solemn Digesting New Information For Future Reference expression. “Go on, please,” Xav encouraged him softly.  
    “Um… their shoes, sir.” Xav’s ears perked up - this was something new to him. “They both had Ceta shoes. The kind they wear when they’re not in uniform, which isn’t something one sees very often.”  
    “And you know this - how?”  
    “I _always_ notice shoes, sir, being low to the ground as I am. Bound be good for _something_ , Gran always says.”  
    Xav grunted sardonically. _Good one! I’ll have to remember that..._  
    “So, then I thought, OK... maybe Ceta shoes are just really, really comfortable, and that’s why they were wearing ‘em. Gran says you should always wear the most comfortable shoes you can get, ‘cause if your feet are miserable, the rest of you will be too.”  
    “I admit I’ve never heard that particular one,” Xav confessed, “although it certainly has the sound of her, right enough.”  
    “You told me to let you know if I noticed anything unusual,” Aral said quietly. “Maybe people can buy Ceta shoes on Beta Colony and they got ‘em that way. I wasn’t really sure if the shoes meant anything or not, sir, but it _was_ unusual. I was confused.”  
    “You? Confused? Surely not, you clever boy! Not for long, anyway. What made you decide, then?” Xav said gently, drawing him closer.  
    “It was my loose tooth, sir, that gave me the idea. Gran told me yesterday about the Tooth Fairy - how Betan children who lose a tooth leave it under their pillow at night, so the Tooth Fairy will come and take the tooth and leave money for it. That’s when Da said it was Betan nonsense. ‘Cept... um… well, he didn’t exactly say _nonsense.”_  
     _I’ll bet he didn’t,_ Xav thought. “And... _that’s_ when The Princess told you the Tooth Fairy was as real as Father Frost?”  
    “Yes, sir.” Aral’s expression was genuinely wistful.  
    “Well, son, as I said earlier, we will conduct that experiment once your tooth falls out. On its own, all right? No prodding allowed! We’ll find out if a Betan Tooth Fairy is as good at finding deserving children as Father Frost is.”  
    The boy seemed cheered by the idea, thankfully, but his tongue was still tentatively exploring his wobbly dentition, apparently savoring the unusual sensation. To be on the safe side, Xav told him, “If you keep fidgeting with that tooth, boy, you’re going to accidentally swallow it, and we won’t _have_ anything to put under the pillow.”  
    “Oh!” Aral was startled for a moment, before his insatiable curiosity kicked in. “So… what would happen if I _did_ swallow it, Grand’da?”  
    “Probably nothing, although I wouldn’t swear to it. So don’t even _think_ about it, Aral!” he cautioned, then softened his tone. “I hate to quash your spirit of inquiry, but I’m 100% certain that none of mankind’s great scientific discoveries involved swallowed teeth.”  
    Aral looked a tad disappointed, but stopped manipulating the tooth.  After thoughtfully licking a tiny dab of brillberry-tinted cream from the corner of his mouth that the cat had somehow missed, he chewed his lower lip a bit, on the right side first, then the left - his Incipient Probing Question expression. Xav braced himself - with Aral, the possibilities were endless!    
    “Grand’da, just who was this Leonardo and what was so easy for him?”  
    Xav laughed, long and hard, the best laugh he’d had in weeks. NOT what he’d been expecting at all! Possible Betan #2 was right, Aral _was_ a delightful child. _“That’s_ my boy!” He kissed the top of his grandson’s head, still laughing. “Old Leonardo wasn’t _half_ as clever as you’ve been today.” Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, he declared, “I’d say that deserves another cream cake, wouldn’t you? We’ll split one,” and added conspiratorially, “but let’s not tell your mother. She’ll have my head, this close to your dinner!”  
    “Like a secret, Grand’da?” the boy asked hopefully.  
    “Exactly like a secret, Aral. _Our_ secret. Nor will we ever tell your mother or grandmother what happened here today. Agreed?”  
    Aral looked thoughtful, and a little uneasy. “I guess, so, sir... but... what about Da?”  
    “Your father most likely knows already, son. If he doesn’t yet, he will shortly. I’m sure his troops will have those two Ceta agents in custody long before nightfall.”  
    “Um... is this like a _really really_ big secret, Grand’da? Can I tell Siggie?”  
    “I’m sorry, son. Afraid not. Not even Siggie.” The look of disappointment on the boy’s face almost made him reconsider. To soften the blow, he added, “It’s possible you and I might have to do something like this again one day, and the fewer people who know about it, the safer it will be. For everyone. It’s vitally important for a man in your position (winking broadly at him) to learn how to keep secrets. Secrets can be very powerful things. They can be good _or_ evil. The most important thing about secrets, Little Mouse - _and never forget it_ \- is to learn which secrets are worth the keeping, and who you must _never_ keep secrets _from_. Do you understand?”  
    “Not... exactly, sir.”  
    “Ah, well. Not to worry, son. I didn’t expect you to. Not yet, anyway. You’re still so very young. I suspect you’ll learn soon enough, this being Barrayar and all. As your grandmother would be sure to point out in no uncertain terms.” Aral looked up at him with a lopsided little grin. “Learning about secrets is one of the most important things you’ll ever do. My fervent hope is that as you get older, you won’t have much need for them, but that’s probably wishful thinking on my part.”  
    Aral sighed and snuggled into the crook of his arm. Xav rested his chin on his grandson’s head. “That ‘easy for Leonardo’ line is from a very famous Old Earth book,” he told the boy, “delivered by a young fellow who liked to build things, much the same way you do, but with rather less success. The book is called _A Child’s Christmas In Wales_ , by a poet named Dylan Thomas. Do you know what Christmas is, Aral?”  
    “Kinda like Winterfair, sir?”  
    “Very much like Winterfair, son. I’ll read the book to you, if you like, when we get back. Although, from what I’ve been hearing from your mother, _you_ can probably read it to me now. That is _so_ _amazing!”_  
    Aral blushed and burrowed deeper in Xav’s arms. “I really like to read, Grand’da, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d very much like it if _you_ would read it to _me_ , please.”  
    “Oh, easy for Leonardo!” He smoothed the too-tousled hair into a semblance of order. “The pleasure will all be mine. The book was always a favorite when I was a boy. I know you’ll enjoy it, too, especially the bits about the wise cats, the firemen in their shining helmets, and the Useless Presents… the Useless Presents most of all. That was always the best part for me.”  
    Aral smiled up at him. The grin was wonderful, making him look like a carefree  little boy for a change. The long-lashed eyes blinked slowly, the lids beginning to droop, his voice now very soft, almost a whisper. “Grand’da?”  
     _He looks sleepy_ , Xav noticed. He was only four years old, after all, and probably could use a bit of a nap about now. He knew he wouldn’t mind one himself.  
    “Yes, son?”  
    “About the Tooth Fairy? And Father Frost? Finding those deserving children?”  
    “Yes, son?”  
    “Father Frost will be _lots_ better!”  
    “And what makes you so sure?”  
    “Because he’s _Barrayaran_ , Grand’da!”  
    “Ah! But of course. Quite right. Spoken like a true son of Barrayar!”

**Author's Note:**

> The relevant bit:  
> (snip from Lois)  
> I picture her {Xav’s wife} as having had some considerable agency, legitimate, covert (or both), in Xav's arms-smuggling escapades during the Occupation. No, I don't know on what level.
> 
> See this for the complete post:  
> Date: Mon, 03 Sep 2012 18:43:20 -0500 (CDT)  
> From: Lois McMaster Bujold  
> Subject: [LMB] Yuri's death squads, a few framing remarks  
> To: "lois- >> Bujold chat list"


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